


your voice and the dial tone

by starrytobios



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Drunk Dialing, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Miya Atsumu is Bad at Feelings, Miya Atsumu-centric, Not Beta Read, Post-Break Up, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Sad Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrytobios/pseuds/starrytobios
Summary: Atsumu knows he isn’t perfect.He knows he makes mistakes.Mistakes like dialling Tobio’s number, even though he is the one person he shouldn’t call in a state like this.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 14
Kudos: 173





	your voice and the dial tone

Atsumu knows he isn’t perfect.

Despite the humorous bravado he likes to put up in order to drive his brother up the wall, despite the way he puffs his chest and doesn’t live through a single day without a sly smirk on his lips, even despite the way he stands in the limelight with unwavering pride in himself— despite it all, he knows, perhaps a little too well, that he is far from perfect.

There’s a fumble of keys into the locked door of an unbearably lonely apartment, an uncoordinated stumble to the couch, a collapsing figure clutching onto his phone as the contact number he knows he shouldn’t call— not now, _not like this_ — flashes bright light onto his face. It stings all the way in the back of his eye, possibly even burning his retina but atsumu wonders how much more damage can be done to eyes that are red-rimmed and sore, eyes that have cried so hard that the skin around them is irritated and inflamed, eyes that wish to open up to a peaceful lover once more.

He is aware that he makes mistakes.

He ‘borrows’ his brother’s things without asking and ‘forgets’ to return them. He messes up his serves every once in a while. He pokes fun at Ushijima in front of Sakusa by accident and then faces the wrath of his teammate head on.

In short he perhaps makes a lot more mistakes than the average person, but none as great as turning away that night. None as agonising as ignoring the helpless cry that begged him to stay. None as heartbreaking as the decision to close the door on the greatest love he had ever felt in his life.

And none as astonishingly fucking _stupid_ — to the point where it may boarder on insanity really —as tapping that aforementioned contact with shaky hands, and bracing himself for a voice he could never forget.

There’s a searing headache in his brain, countless shots, a couple beers and a funky-looking, neon-blue drink that Bokuto insisted on the team trying, are the culprits. but some of the blame falls on atsumu’s hands; his teammates had drank to celebrate a win, but he had drank to forget.

He had drank to forget the pouts and the frowns, the shy smiles and heated kisses, the late nights and the gap between his thighs. To forget the softer, quieter moments of cuddling on the couch, head resting against his raven hair. To forget the louder, more passionate times; the dips in his hips, the arching of his back, the bruised knees, bitten lips and poorly muffled noises caught in his pillow. To forget everything that being across the net from him had brought rushing back.

A year wasn’t all that long of a time, and Atsumu knew that they would have to play each other again after the breakup, but he didn’t know it would hurt so much. That it would curl around him and crash down on him like a tsunami, flooding him with so many memories that it felt like his head was underwater, lungs burning with the need to breathe.

He didn’t know that even the sweetness of victory would not have been able to dull the sword of agony. Because what was a win when Kageyama Tobio still stood on the other side, staring him down like he was nothing?

The phone is still ringing. Atsumu has given up on it ever being picked up. He wouldn’t be surprised if his number is blocked; it honestly should be for what he did. for how shitty of a boyfriend he was.

But then comes the click of an answer, the quiet breathing from the other end of the call, and the simple, “it’s three am.”

Tobio is as blunt as ever and atsumu cannot even pretend to be mad. it’s one of the things he loves about him— loves, _present tense_ , because he isn’t as emotionally strong as he likes to boast —brutal honesty. No space for bullshit.

It’s nice.

Tobio’s voice sounds grainy over the bad connection, his breathing jagged but soothing to Atsumu who has missed hearing it so close to his ear.

This is _nice_.

There’s so much to say, but inebriated as he is, Atsumu can only manage a murmur of, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a shuffle on the other side, and then silence once more. Silence that permeates the entire apartment, viscid taciturnity hanging heavy in the air.

“What do you want?”

It is a simple phrase, but it makes Atsumu’s heart hurt. It makes him nauseated because that is all that remains of their relationship now; take, take, _take_. That is all Tobio believes Atsumu will ever do: ask for more, take more, bleed him dry of everything. It’s agonising that Tobio only ever remembers giving, and not receiving. But it’s not wrong of him, because in the end Atsumu took more than he gave, and he still despises himself for it.

Especially when he remembers that the younger man never asked for much, he was content with every little thing Atsumu did. The only night he held out his hand and asked— _begged_ —was that night.

_Their last night._

And even then the request was not monumental, not unfair or bratty. It was simple.

A broken cry, a desperate outstretched palm, a tear-stained face: _‘please don’t leave me.’_

And Atsumu still walked out the door.

There’s a hotness in the pit of his stomach, but not the soothing type. It’s not the warmth that being in tobio’s arms used to elicit, that was soft and constant, this is raging and consuming -- more like lava than a crackling fireplace on a winter’s night.

Atsumu tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat but chokes, a gutteral noise escaping his lips. He wants to answer with ‘nothing’, wants so desperately to tell Tobio that he has changed, that he will not take until there’s nothing left, that every accursed part of him that tore them apart is gone.

But it’s all fictitious, and no greater lie could ever be told.

Because Atsumu wants so much more than nothing, god he wants everything plus a little more. He wants Tobio back with him.

He yearns to have him back in arms, to feel those calloused fingers interlocking with his once more, to hear the breathless whimpers of _‘Atsumu’_ rolling off Tobio’s tongue like it was all he knew how to say, to feel those well-manicured nails dragging against the bare skin of his back, to see those cobalt eyes haze with the most gorgeous amalgamation of craving and adoration, like Atsumu was a god at his feet, promising him the universe in every kiss.

The memories are warming up that feeling in his stomach until it’s iron-rod hot, scorching his insides as it bubbles up. Now it’s washing over the shores of his heart, crumbling through the flimsy defence of his ribs, leaving their ashes in its wake. Atsumu swallows hard but it’s too late; his throat is charred, the lava is leaking from his eyes and singeing the scarred skin of his cheeks, deadly tributaries washing his face with their broiling, twisted love.

“Fuck...M’sorry.” Atsumu hics, harshly wiping his face to no avail as the tears keep bursting through, “Seein’ ya’ today...that just threw me off.”

“But you knew I would be there, didn’t you?” And there he is again. Tobio. _Atsumu’s Tobio_. So curt; always cutting to the chase even if he doesn’t mean to.

“‘Course I knew you woulda been there, don’t change the fact that seein’ ya’ makes me a fuckin’ mess.” He doesn’t mean to snap, but his voice is straining and struggling to overcome the searing, painful heat coiling around it, “I wanted to say so much. I’ve thought about callin’ ya’ so many times over the last year but I’m a coward, ain’t I?”

Silence. Atsumu scoffs, he doesn’t know what he expected. Tobio hasn’t tried to reach out either, but then again, Tobio isn’t the one who left.

“Seein’ ya’ across the net is like we’re back in high school all over again, but ya’ ain’t that goody-two-shoes anymore so I guess it ain’t the same.” He hears an unimpressed _‘tch’_ on the other side. It’s nice to know that Tobio still can’t stand that nickname-- nice to feel some semblance of what they used to have-- but that fades away at the thought that it’s no longer because of the nickname itself but because of who gave him it.

Atsumu leans back onto the couch, sliding down until his head is against the armrest, body buzzing, cheeks stinging, heart pounding, mind shutting off as everything he knows he should keep to himself comes rushing out in the helpful, protective layer of alcohol.

“Bed feels lonely withoutcha.” Atsumu groans, turning on his side, “M’sick of lying alone...miss wakin’ up to ya.”

For a second it sounds like Tobio’s about to say something, but that ends up being nothing more than delusion.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry I left...I just-- Fuckin’ hell Tobio-kun, I just miss ya’.”

“I…” Atsumu feels his hopes rise with Tobio’s shaking voice, “Please drink some water and go to sleep, Miya-san.”

And there they go— his hopes —out the window, hurtling down to meet a messy end against the pavement. Of course Tobio didn’t miss him. Why would he? Why would anyone miss someone as selfish as him? The complete disregard for what Atsumu had said is bad enough, but it‘s that name-- _Miya-san_ ; Atsumu has to stop himself from retching --that really pisses him off.

Because how the fuck could he call him that? How could he erase the years they spent together, the countless days of unfiltered adoration? The endless moments in which he had lived as Atsumu to Tobio; the rarer, even more tender moments in which he had been lucky enough to hear ‘Tsumu slip from Tobio’s mouth like it was what he had always called him -- how could he forget all that?

“Look at you callin’ me Miya-san like I wasn’t ‘Tsumu just a few months ago,” says Atsumu, words slurring on his tongue, “Call me ‘Tsumu again Tobio...please. I wanna hear ya’ call me that again.”

 _“But you aren’t ‘Tsumu anymore.”_ Tobio yells, his voice rising in both pitch and volume. The way it only does when he feels sad, when Atsumu hurts him.

And that pained tone is enough to remind Atsumu, drunk as he is, of why they are apart, why he’s alone, wallowing in self-pity while Tobio is somewhere on the other side of the city and not sitting right next to him, fingers running through the blonde strands of his hair.

_Atsumu is the reason._

“Y’know what, m’sorry. I shouldn’t have called ya’,” he grunts slightly as he struggles to get the words out of his throat, “This was a mistake. I just missed ya’ ‘n didn’t know what to do...I should hang up now.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, hand tremors refusing to subside as he cuts the call, not even waiting for Tobio to respond. He’s sure he would have had nothing to say in the end, because that whole call was selfish. Like pretty much everything else Atsumu does when it comes to love, it was unbelievably self-indulgent, and yet again he hadn’t considered what Tobio might have felt. Yet again he had hurt him. Yet again, he had proved that he didn’t deserve him, that he _still_ doesn’t deserve him.

So Miya Atsumu lies splayed out on his couch, throat burning, chest aching, heart broken, alone yet again with nothing but the memories of Tobio.

On the other side of the city, in a shitty hotel room, Kageyama Tobio stares at his phone, the static of a dial tone ringing in the air as he manages to whisper _‘I miss you too’_ for no one but the fake plants decorating the room to hear. And that night he sleeps in a bed that isn’t his, thinking of bleached blonde hair and lazy smirks even when he shouldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> so it’s like one am as i’m posting this lol and this is sorta the second atskg fic i’ve posted in the last 24 hours but it doesn’t matter. i decided to write angst to counter any fluff that i’ve written and since it’s so late i can’t even tell if it’s good BUT WHATEVER i just wanted to get atsukage out of my system! thank you for reading <3333
> 
> follow my twt: kaikxge if you wanna scream about atskg + hq in general.


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